Taking Time When There's None
by peterpan34
Summary: Maybe it wasn't her fault. Maybe faith was just playing cruel. Then again, maybe it was her fault. She was curious. And then there were those boy's; the mature one, and the childish one. They had brought her there. They had brought Margaret to Neverland.


Margaret

It was a chilly autumn morning, as Margaret hesitantly walked down one of the cobble stone streets of London, which name had been long forgotten after many years. Margaret however, liked to refer it as 'Death Road' as it was the road that led her to her own personal taste of hell. But, despite the reason for the name every couple of moments, a small ray of sunlight would peek through the dreary, grey clouds to illuminate her tired, early-morning face. Her hair, as usual, was sleep-mused; the frayed hem of her dress dragging across the wet ground as she staggered forward, quite an accomplishment as she'd yet another sleepless night. This was not unusual.

Her life, like most children of the 'posh' and 'highly acclaimed' city of London, was hard. Not to mention that most daily tasks were more difficult for her, though that wasn't her fault. Dyslexia, a newly-discovered disease, had basically conquered the mind of this young girl. Making it harder for her to read and write and introducing her to the odd tendency of listening to the unimportant and ignoring the vital in most people. Although she learned of the expectations of society at a young age, Margaret still couldn't fathom why dyslexia had caused everyone to toss her to the side like some ignorant rag-doll of no use.

She had once gone to school, and though she was very intelligent in her own right, she was thrown out for she had never done her studies or learnt her multiplication tables like the other girls. The other girls… Margaret still felt a slight pang of envy at the thought of them. The prettier girls with sharp eyes and long hair in plaits, the ones that the boys swooned over while she was left alone, in her much-too-large dresses of dull colors and too-small shoes with no little heels. One day she'd had enough and went searching for answers.

"Amy," she remembered asking a rich, rather snooty girl, whose hair was in the loveliest of plaits with silk ribbons. "Why do you treat me so badly? I am no different from you, or the other girls, and yet you treat me like an ass!"

Amy had snorted, baring her pearly whites in what seemed to be a sneer. "You are a devil-child, with no intellect whatsoever! You are almost a beggar, with those parents of yours; completely mad!" Later that day, Amy was sent home because of broken bones and Margaret was beaten twenty times on the hands with a wooden ruler.

And so, here she was slowly making her way down the street with no name. _You miss-_ she told herself_- must get a move on, unless you want your daily pay._ She sighed drearily, trudging tiredly into the sweatshop. "Good morning, sleepy." John, a co-worker of hers, greeted as he leaned against the coat racks beside her, smiling devilishly.

"Hello," she mumbled, rubbing her eyes.

He shot her an understanding glance before he strode towards Margaret and hugged her tightly. "You haven't slept, Margo," he whispered, kissing her head.

"When do I ever, John?" she yawned, wrapping her arms around his neck. Alright, so perhaps they weren't simply co-workers, but they weren't courting either. At the sweatshop, it wasn't permitted; at least, not when the Patron was around.

John only sighed, gently rubbing her back as he replied. "You need sleep, Margo; you look like a mess..."

"Thank you John, because that makes me feel much better." Margaret snapped sarcastically, pulling away from him and walking to her sewing station.

"Oh, come now love! Don't act that way!" John chuckled, eyes twinkling when he followed her teasingly.

"I'll act how I please!" she retorted angrily as she smacked him away.

John eyed her apprehensively before pecking her cheek. "Be good, Margo… And don't pout, it doesn't suit you." Margaret scoffed as he grinned before stalking off to the second floor of the building.

"Oh, how sweet!" Mary, the girl who shared the station with her, suddenly squealed; clapping her hands together in happiness while she questioned loudly: "Aren't they just the sweetest things you've ever seen?"

The rest of the young women around the room agreed, causing several high-pitched giggles to echo amongst the sounds of the metal sewing machines. "Shut up the whole lot of you!" Margaret hissed, "If the Patron hears you, you'll be thrown out onto the streets!"

"She's just upset because she didn't sleep." Sophie, another seamstress explained to the others with a roll of her eyes. "But they simply adore each-other, I'm sure!"

"Hold your tongue," Margaret growled, eyes narrowing as more giggles ran out from around her.

"What happened? Didn't get John into bed last night Margo? I'm sure he was just out buying the ring!" Anne, the girl horizontal from her guffawed, a hand over her mouth as her shoulders shook.

"Hush up Anne! I'm only fifteen; I wouldn't be able to get anyone into bed even if I tried! I'm unattractive, look at these!" She lifted her choppy bangs, showing the ladies blemishes; rather large ones at that, before rolling her stormy-grey eyes. "You see? Ugly as a wicked witch!" They all burst out in laughter at the pretty girl, who hung her head in shame. "Don't laugh at me! I've told you, even though one finger is pointing my-ways, four others are pointing all of your-ways. It's not _polite_, is it Fannie?" Margaret asked as she turned on the said girl, who ironically was the one who was snickering the loudest, though she was usually the most well-mannered.

Upon seeing Margaret's glare, Frannie quickly regained her composure and sat up straight. "Yes, well, that's correct, but-"

Abruptly, a young girl interrupted Frannie in her exclamation with an excited shout of: "Look! He's back!" To which all the girls quickly turned their attention to the window, where a blonde haired lad, about the same age as John (seventeen, that is), walked by them. Pausing to tip his hat charmingly towards the window as he did, causing the entire fleet of girls to coo at the handsome young man, with the exception of Margaret who turned away uncomfortably.

"We don't know him…" The fifteen year old mumbled uneasily just to be cut off by another girl.

"Do we have to?" Mary purred, staring dreamily at the lad through the slightly dirty glass.

Suddenly, a tap was heard on the casement and Margaret was sure that Mary practically fainted at the sight; the young boy had come to greet them. Well, not them, but Margaret in particular. As he tapped at the window again Margaret turned around slowly, causing the boy's blue eyes to twinkle pleasurably as he waved at her. Margaret shot him a look of slight disgust before turning back; though that hardly helped as she could hear him laughing from the outside. "He likes you! Say something!" Fannie urged her impatiently.

With more insistent shouts from the girls, Margaret finally spun to look at the boy again. Biting her lip nervously, she blankly waved at him. He smiled; she smiled. It went on like that for quite a while, until a younger boy with brown hair that was about Margaret's age took his arm, scolding him and pulling on his blue waistcoat. The blonde lad gazed over at Margaret, who stubbornly refused to look at him anymore.

The brown-haired boy dragged the other boy away, which made all the young girls turn to stare at her in shock. "Why didn't you look at him?" Sophie demanded in disbelief, "He was staring at you!"

Margaret shrugged; she didn't know exactly why she had turned away, but she started an argument just the same. "He's trouble, I know it. A devil in disguise, I'm telling you!"

"With that face? Impossible!" Mary disputed, suspiring dreamily.

"I don't trust him…" Margaret admitted.

Fannie exhaled sharply in annoyance. "You don't trust anyone, do you?" she murmured, shaking her head in disapproval.

Margaret shrugged quietly, staring down at her unfinished dress before picking up the needle and continuing her work. The stitches went this way and that and Margaret soon found herself blinking to stay awake to the point where she ended up pricking her finger and misplacing two stitches.

As Margaret slammed her fist down on the table in frustration, Mary, who felt pity, reached over and took the pink cloth from her. "I'll fix it…"

Margaret not taking kindly to the pity grabbed it back. "Finish yours. I'll fix it myself." However, a sharp pain focused onto her forehead forcing her to draw back as she rubbed it tenderly; she was getting a migraine.

Mary reached back, taking it again. "Relax, Margo. It isn't hard, just-"

"Mary, please! Just save it, I'm in no mood for your idiotic mentoring today!" Margaret screamed, pushing her chair back, not caring if it left scratched marks against the floor.

"Margaret, stop it" Sophie fumed, standing up and grabbing her arm. "You're acting like a child!"

Margaret's eyes welded with tears as she ripped her arm out of the lanky girl's grasp, shouting in anger: "I am a child!"

Perhaps it was her sour temper, or her solemn face, but no one seemed to keep a decent friendship with Margaret. Her fits of anger were constant and everyone joked that she would become a widower when she was older; for her husband would not be able to tolerate her and, eventually, take his own life away. Margaret hated this thought; she didn't know it, but she truly wanted John as a husband. If anything would happen to him… She could barely think of it.

"I am a child," she muttered, defeated as she slumped back into her chair. "A stubborn little child."


End file.
